


How We Spent Our Summer Vacation

by Medie



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Character of Color, Crossover, F/M, Het, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitting in has never been Sheppard's strong-suit. Not Rodney's either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god they wouldn't _shut up_! I got near the due date with the ficathon and still, not shutting up! So this would be why I am so late. Thanks to [](http://havocthecat.livejournal.com/profile)[**havocthecat**](http://havocthecat.livejournal.com/) for beta reading this behemoth. it is for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_rarepairings/profile)[**sg_rarepairings**](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_rarepairings/) ficathon and [](http://gaiaanarchy.livejournal.com/profile)[**gaiaanarchy**](http://gaiaanarchy.livejournal.com/) in particular.

** Week One: **

PJX-870 is a dustbowl.

John winces and slaps at his thigh in the dark. Great, just fucking great. Not only is the planet a dustbowl, it is a dustbowl complete with mites and ticks.

Mean, blood-thirsty mites and ticks.

Perfect.

Slouching down in his bedding, he stares up at the sky and grins wryly when he catches himself imagining different star patterns. It's been increasingly difficult to ignore the ever-present feeling lurking just beneath his thoughts.

The lure of Atlantis is still a near-irresistible siren's song three galaxies away, and John scowls in the night. He loves the city enough to hate it right now.

"Stop sulking, Sheppard," Mitchell grumbles across the small space between them, the sleepy growl in his voice all too familiar. "Or I _swear_..."

John's grin turns wicked. "You swear you'll what?" he asks quietly, daring Mitchell to answer. From the moment Mitchell stepped off the Daedalus, John's been having trouble quite believing he's real. Cameron Mitchell has a knack of disappearing from John Sheppard's life, and this latest twin of miraculous reappearances (though technically the second time, John reappeared in Cam's) is just a little unnerving.

Whether Landry realized the cause or not, John's got a sneaking suspicion that his little orientation assignment is about working it out. He's pretty sure they'll start working on that sooner or later. Probably around the same time he stops being twelve years-old and snickering every time he thinks the word 'orientation.'

The silence from Mitchell is enough of an answer, but he can't resist needling him just a little more. "What're you gonna do, huh, Shaft?" He's daring him, and he knows how risky that is. If he's not careful, this might be the time when he finally asks the questions burning in his chest since Mitchell walked into his life again.

He knows he should have asked them then, when he had home court advantage and Mitchell had nowhere to go.

Now, he thinks if he tries to ask the words will get stuck in his throat, and maybe that's a relief, but maybe it's not. All he knows is he's still afraid of the answers, and he's not alone in that regard.

"Just shut up and sleep," Mitchell mumbles, the sound of rustling betraying his restless movements. It's not a surprise he's backing off; John knows he's no more ready to face the answers to those questions. Neither one of them really wants to let that particular genie out of the bottle yet. "You've got watch in an hour," Mitchell reminds him. "And T's a bear when he doesn't get his beauty sleep."

John takes the grumbled joke for the olive branch that it is, and settles down. It doesn't hurt that he almost believes the line about Teal'c. The stoic Jaffa isn't exactly Ronon, but John's not crazy enough to risk it.

As far as he can tell, Teal'c doesn't know the details of his history with Mitchell, but Teal'c doesn't need to know much. A blind man can see the history, and Teal'c is definitely no blind man.

Teal'c's also decided that it's probably John's fault.

Some day John may even get up the nerve to ask him.

 

*

"God, Rodney, how can anyone suck at _phone_ sex?!" Laura protests, her voice made tinny by the long-distance phone line. "Seriously! You? So not good at it at all. Not even a little bit."

Glaring daggers of annoyance at his computer screen, Rodney's only just able to resist the urge to smack the silently superior machine. The damned thing is mocking him in its refusal to work, and he is going to kill it. Slowly. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with my technique, Laura. Your imagination, however, leaves much to be desired, but what else can you expect from a Marine?"

Laura gusts a noisy sigh in her ear. "This isn't going to turn into one of those 'me enlightened Canadian, you Neanderthal American' things of yours, is it?" she asks, with a faint hint of 'Rodney, you big idiot' in her voice. It's cute...for a Neanderthal American.

He grins. "No, it's not going to be one of those, but I can possibly turn it into one if you'd like. Throw in a rant about the incompetence of the American military, the negotiations, and possibly the general breakdown of that excuse you call a governmental system, _but_…"

"You love me, and plus you're just not going to go there. because you have a strong sense of self-preservation," she chirrups. "Especially after your utterly pathetic attempt at phone sex. Really, Rodney, I'm starting to doubt this whole "Canadians are sex gods" thing you keep touting. Maybe one of the Special Forces guys can do it..."

He thinks the rather girlish yelp of horror that escapes him is understandable, given the circumstances. He's _seen_ those guys. "Haven't they been sent back home?" Surely the Defense department has somewhere they're short-staffed. If he needs to, he can make calls to be sure. Somewhere in a jungle without phones, or, better yet, a desert with sand to get in their BDUs. He is a vengeful bastard when it comes to his girlfriend.

"Oh, hell, no," snorts Laura. "Landry might be a moron, but he's not a stupid moron. We need 'em; they've been slotted onto units and sent out on missions. The SGC is totally poaching people."

He bites his tongue to hold back the rant on how many of his people that Sam Carter's stolen. This discretion, he knows, has less to do with Laura caring, than his own satisfaction at his diabolical scheme to steal them back. Not to mention the plot to figure out just where the hell Jonas Quinn has gotten to, because, hey if the guy's world is gone, he can totally make use of the little alien dude and his banana.

He's alone, so the wince at the realization of how homoerotic _that_ sounds is not that embarrassing.

Mostly.

"You seriously need to practice the phone sex though, Rodney," she continues cheerfully. "If we're doing this long distance thing convincingly? You are going to need to get better. Cyber's fun, but then you have to _type_, and I've got better uses for my hands than that."

Rodney thinks of Zelenka doing cartwheels, Carson with his treadmills of doom, and Kavanaugh with his endless complaints. He'll think of anything that doesn't let his mind form the picture Laura's so effortlessly creating.

She laughs along the line and he scowls. "You are killing me here."

"Well, it's only fair, Rodney," she smarts back. "After all, you _didn't_ kill me here and that? Is not good for a girl who's had a bad day full of Priors, morons, and a CO who couldn't find his own ass in the dark if the rest of us crowded around with flashlights and moved his hand for him."

"We are so doomed," he bemoans.

"If you don't figure out the latest doomsday weapon du jour? Pretty much," affirms Laura. She's not much in the way of comfort, but he's not looking for that anyway. Rodney works better with his life in mortal peril; it's a thing and he's come to accept it, even if Sheppard and company mock him mercilessly.

He tries not to hear Ronon and Teyla's laughter when he thinks about it. "Jackson still turning up nothing on the whole super weapon from the Middle Ages?"

Oooh, there is a chance he might have been just a little bitchy in that one.

"Meow," she says, affirming that yes, he was, but, fortunately for Rodney, he's sleeping with a woman who thinks bitchy is hot. "I take it you don't really believe him?"

"Oh, I believe him." Rodney shrugs even though she can't see him. She knows he's doing it anyway. "It's Daniel Jackson. Even when the man sounds like he's three days off his meds, he generally knows what he's talking about." Also the evidence in the Ancients' database totally backed him up, but he wasn't going to point that one out just yet. "Generally."

"So, what? You're just impatient that he hasn't saved the world yet?" Laura's grinning, he can hear it through the words, and he has a moment of panic when he pictures her and Jackson curled up on her bed, listening. It's crazy, but, yes, panic. "Wow, just a little competitive there, aren't you, McKay?"

Just a little, but he doesn't have to point that out. "Well, you have to admit that for the reputation that SG-1 enjoys, we should be seeing results about now." He's still clinging to the stubborn belief that if it had been left to himself, Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla, the Ori would be so much ectoplasm by now, and he really doesn't need it spoiled with irrelevant facts like accurate data.

"You just want to play with it," says Laura. He almost curses at the sudden, seductive spin she puts on the words. She is not supposed to sound like that, not when she's mocking him, dammit, and, yeah, back to hard-on from hell. It should be pathetic, he thinks, that sarcasm is what passes for phone sex between them.

"I want to play with _something_," Rodney counters and that something's in Colorado, not in the other room, and he _hates_ the Ancients for it.

*

** Week Two: **

The SGC is short competent commanders, or halfway competent commanders, at any rate. At least, that's the excuse John tells himself when Landry puts him in charge of an SGC team his second week back. They're young, younger than he can remember being, not that it counts much, and a couple of them keep looking at him like he's some sort of rock star.

He would be freaking out over the rock star part, but that was before Pegasus. Now he's too cynical about naïve kids, and what happens to the ones that don't learn fast enough.

Life's not easy on Earth, but in Pegasus it's a mean bastard, and the real bitch of it?

He _misses_ that. The SGC-issued uniforms feel wrong, they look wrong, and damned if his first mission out with the new kids, he doesn't keep expecting to see Ronon and Teyla skulking about the bush, while McKay ruins any attempt at being covert by bitching about forgetting his sunscreen in Atlantis.

He comes back halfway wishing they'd actually ran into a Prior or two; that would have at least made it worth the aggravation.

Post-mission briefing is a cakewalk, and dull as watching paint dry, with him answering Landry's questions and trying to not wish Elizabeth was sitting there instead. The whole thing feels _wrong_, and he's still not able to shake it. He saunters out of the room at the end of the briefing with a little thrill of satisfaction at the hint of frustration in the General's eyes.

He showers on autopilot, ends up sitting in the locker room, staring at his shoes, and trying to think about what to do next. Home's a half-empty apartment provided by the Air Force, and he's not up to staring at the walls and contemplating paint schemes.

"For a guy who just got back into the game, you look like shit." Mitchell throws a leg over the bench, sitting down and dropping his bag beside him. SG-1's got another overnight operation off-world, no doubt another one of Doctor Jackson's Ancient colony hunts. He's just a little obsessed, and with the threat of the Ori weighing heavier with each and every passing day that fails to bring another one of SG-1's miracle saves, that obsession is getting just a little bit worse.

Godlike, disembodied aliens with a taste for universal domination?

Yay.

"Well, I look better than I feel." admits John, as Mitchell stretches and shrugs off his jacket. The action's damned distracting, and John looks away, trying to ignore the faint scent of Mitchell's aftershave. He does not need to be noticing that now, or reliving the memories that smell evokes. He's got enough problems with the ghost of Atlantis lurking over his shoulder; he doesn't need Afghanistan's ghosts joining it. Cameron Mitchell features heavily in those memories, the good ones at least, but for every moment of fumbled sex in the dark, there's another of death, loss, and fuck-you-over that are never too far away.

Mitchell makes it fucking difficult to think clearly at the best of times; now he's making it damn near impossible, and John's not listening to his subconscious whispering to him about what exactly he does need.

The silence between them after his admission isn't a good one; John remembers only too well how Cameron Mitchell deals with protracted silences. He blurts things out at random to fill the gap, and John knows precisely what's on the tip of Mitchell's tongue. It's definitely not something he's in any hurry to have him share right now.

"This is going to take some getting used to," he explains lamely. "The whole…"

"Getting used to the whole not being top of the heap, running the show, and doing it all while stuck with a bunch of rejects nobody else wants?" Mitchell rattles off, tilting his head and grinning at him faintly. "Could be worse, John."

The grin's a familiar one, and John knows he shouldn't ask but he does. "Than?"

"I showed up here and they gave me command of team of, well, me," he grins wider. "Fun times, Johnny, fun times." Mitchell looks away to stare at the lockers with more attention than they really deserve. "It's going to take some getting used to, hell I been here almost two years and I'm not used to it myself. Spent the first year just trying to not stare at Carter, Jackson, and Teal'c like they were fucking miracle workers and now? Now I'm just trying to keep my ass from getting shot off or wake up a Origin spoutin' zombie and thinking I'm probably going to get us all killed."

He grins a quick, hard, and maybe-bitter little grin. "And I _like_ it here, so just imagine the fun you're in for."

If there had ever been a worse choice of words in history, John's pretty sure he doesn't know about them. He bites the inside of his cheek hard to control his expression at the sudden erection caused by Mitchell's words. "Yeah," he chokes out, "just imagine."  
*

"So I nearly got killed again today," Laura's voice over the phone is tired, but cheerful. The silence in the background makes Rodney wonder. "But, don't worry, the other guy totally bought it, plus I blew up half a village and a whole lot of Ori pretty toys when I did it. That Adria, though? Not amused."

"I assume her lack of amusement is how you ended up in the infirmary?" snaps Rodney, fear making his words unnecessarily short and angry. He likes the job he's got. (Mostly. There are issues, but he's working them out. Well, he would be, if Elizabeth would just answer her goddamn phone) He doesn't like this distance. Things like Laura getting hurt happen, and he doesn't get to know until she steals somebody's cell?

Sheppard is so getting yelled at, first chance he gets, and Rodney envisions many, many four letter words that will pepper the conversation. A man needed warnings when he was going to get phone calls that could potentially take years off his life.

"I'm sorry," he says softer this time, tempering his fear. "I assume by the fact it's you calling, and not Sheppard showing up hat in hand that it's not that serious?"

"Nah." Her assurance almost works, but he can still hear the exhaustion, and he doesn't like that sound in her voice. This wouldn't have happened if they were in Atlantis. Atlantis has Wraith, Genii, crazy Ancient replicators with bad attitudes, but it does not have Ori and he doesn't care _why_. He just cares about getting the hell back there, where things make _sense_, and oh, god, when did that happen?

"I took a little shrapnel from one of the explosions. Lam didn't even give me a cast!" She sounds disappointed, and Rodney's glad for a little distance. That sounds like it comes with an expression that would do elicit one of two reactions from him. He doesn't know much about Carolyn Lam, but he doesn't think she would appreciate either murder, or public sex in her infirmary.

He's even disappointed about that. It might be quite nice to try it out.

"Rodney." Laura's amused interruption derails what had promised to be very pornographic thoughts, and speaking of disappointment? Laura Cadman in pornographic situations. Any time Rodney is deprived of that, he is very annoyed. He'd probably pout this time, but he's not entirely over the part where his girlfriend the explosives expert nearly got _herself_ blown up. That tends to ruin a pout. "Hey, McKay? You wanna derail the panic express for a second or two, and cop to the fact that I'm not actually dead, or even anywhere near dying? I'm getting sprung from here tomorrow morning, Sheppard's giving me a ride home, Lorne promised to drop off rations in the form of a cheeseburger and fries, and Doctor Heightmeyer and Katie Brown are bringing by chocolate and porn. I am _completely_ covered in the pampering area, and so definitely not dying. Though after the chocolate and porn, I could conceivably die happy, but that's beside the point."

He rolls his eyes, and tries not to laugh at the way she sounds so smug about it all, not even though he's more than a little jealous of the friends she has access to in Colorado. There are days he feels like he might as well be on the moon for the amount of familiar faces that he sees. "Sounds like you've got a regular family reunion in the works. Who's bringing the bundt cake?"

"Ooh, somebody's a little cranky," coos Laura teasingly. She's using that voice. The one every woman can use, the one that he swears can lower the IQ of any infant or politician within a hundred miles. He's privately entertained the theory that it's the real reason for the total moral decay of society. He tried sharing it once, but Jeannie just threw a baby bootie at his head.

It should be noted, he thinks, that the bootie had already been _bronzed_, and that he still has a scar.

He tells people he got the scar from the Wraith.

"Of course I'm cranky," he complains, balefully eying the empty coffee pot. "I'm overworked, underpaid, and I haven't had sex in almost a month! Things keep going the way they are, and I'll end up on the roof by next Tuesday at three o'clock threatening to jump!"

"Poor baby," she laughs. "Make up an excuse to come to the Mountain for something, and I promise we'll spend a whole day in bed. Just you, me, and the delivery guy bringing me pizza."

"Except you're supposed to be resting," he reminds her. For all that the others accuse him of laziness, Rodney's actually anything but when there's nudity and Laura involved. Though he doesn't like to brag (honest!), he's pretty damn good at it, and she's never complained. Laura's not the type to preserve anyone's ego, and especially since his doesn't need any help, she'd so tell him if there was a problem.

She laughs. "Yes, but this will be my physical therapy."

Rodney straightens quickly, gaze locking on the wall. The slyly made offering brings all sorts of thoughts to his mind, and he knows he should be irritated. Laura knows how to push his buttons way too well, and she just did. He takes a moment to indulge before saying, "You want to play doctor, huh? Such a novel concept there, Laura. What's next? A French maid?"

"Promise?" she asks through a yawn. "I mean, you shouldn't tease the sick, Rodney. I'll be spending all night thinking of you in the little fishnets and _wow_, that'll prove fun." She yawns again, and he knows her energy reserves are flagging. He can hear it more in her voice than in the yawning. When she's tired, her voice changes. It takes on a lazy note that reminds him of Atlantis.

It makes him a little homesick.

Rodney will never, ever admit it, but his favorite part of being with her isn't actually the sex. It's those moments in the morning.

"You need to sleep," he tells her, getting up to fill the coffee pot with water. "I need to work, and you need to sleep." Before she can protest, he points out, "If I'm going to come out there, I need to bring a mountain of work with me to shock Carter into stunned silence. That way I can leave her buried beneath it and we can have lots and lots of sex."

"I hate it when you're right," she complains, without rancor. "Just remember, bring the costume, and make sure you don't pick out heels that pinch your toes. Believe me, I speak from experience."

He grins. "Go to sleep. I'll see you when I get there."

Laura curses at him cheerfully, and hangs up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Week Three:**

There was a day when John Sheppard was crazy enough to actually wish for contact with the Priors, or to wish for a good fight with then. Today he thinks it's almost a mercy that Elizabeth is still ducking his calls. He's not sure he wants to hear her say _"careful what you wish for..."_ because he's got it, and he's got it in spades.

Throwing himself to the ground, John only just avoids his head being blown off. A second later, he realizes Lorne's hand is tangled in his vest, and the major's dirt-smeared face is staring down at his. Okay, so not so much with the self-throwing as with the somebody else yanking him down. Whatever. John can do flexible.

"You okay, sir?" Lorne asks, watching him cautiously. The man has way too much experience with saving John's ass, and frankly, John's starting to find it a little annoying. Only a little. The alternative is his ass not being saved, and he's kinda attached to it.

"Not dead anyway," he grins sheepishly. "Would you believe we're here to rescue _you_?"

Lorne grins and nods. "Thank you, sir," he says a second later, making a passable attempt at serious. "We owe you one, sir."

If John had been able to fake sincerity like that at Lorne's age, he would have gotten into a lot less shit with his superiors. Those kinds of bullshit skills take serious talent.

"I'll keep that in mind," he grunts. Lorne helps him up, and they stumble-run for cover. General Landry is so not going to be pleased to hear this one, although there is good news and bad news. The good? Only half the population has accepted Origin. The bad? The other half that has not is being just a little violent in their attempts to convince their fellows otherwise they've made a mistake. It's rapidly becoming a full on civil war and not even the Ori could've seen this one coming.

It's a little bit of a mess really, what with the Olanans being-- Well, John doesn't _want_ to say lizard people, but--

He had a gecko in high school, and he's pretty sure Harry's cousin just tried to blow his head off. John can't wait to see what Heightmeyer makes of that one.

"You just had to land yourself in the middle of a civil war, didn't you, Major?" John checks his clip, and looks around for Mitchell's team. He knew Mitchell took off to round up a contact of theirs. Jackson and Carter are nowhere to be seen, but her voice is crackling over the radio, and they're not far. Teal'c is always easy to find, and it's even easier when he's striding across a war zone bold as brass, and somehow managing to avoid getting shot.

Not that there anybody on this planet would dare. John's convinced there aren't many people on many planets that would. He knows he's not one of them, but he sort of thinks he'd pay good money to see him and Ronon slug it out.

Sort of. He's not actually crazy enough to try suggesting it.

"Well, y'know, sir, anytime we can get a chance to hang out, you've got to take it," says Lorne, popping up to fire back at the lizards. It would be hard to tell one faction from the other, if not for the ceremonial sashes tied across their chests. Which is so very helpful when you're trying not to shoot the good guys. "Besides, I've been telling tales to the new kids, and they want to see you in action."

"Oh really?" John peers out to check the lay of the land, and is nearly tackled by one of said kids as she's diving over the wall.

"Hi!" Linda Cho beams a grin at him. Her cheek is streaked with the bright yellow of the lizards' blood, and John does not want to know how many of them she's dispatched to that big sunning rock in the sky. She's one of the few members of Lorne's team he's seen in action, she's a favorite student of Teal'c's, and he's convinced she and Teyla would get along famously. The fact that they can both wipe the floor with his ass is probably just the first of many things they've got in common.

"You good?" asks Lorne, while giving her a quick look over.

She nods grimly. "Mac's not. Got him tucked away by the 'gate with a spare clip. Tell me we're getting out of here just as soon as Colonel Mitchell finds the little guy?"

The idea of Lin calling anyone little is faintly hilarious, but since she could kill him with her pinky? John is so not stupid enough to try and tell her that.

"Lorne?" He interrupts, leaning around her. "We ever get back to Atlantis? Flip you for her."

Lorne snorts. "Not a chance sir, this one's mine. You have Teyla, remember? It's no fair you getting to load up on all the hot, ass-kicking women."

Lin sits back on her haunches, looks from one man to the other, and doesn't disappoint when she says, "If this were anyone else, I'd say this qualifies as sexual harassment."

"But?" John grins, waiting for her answer.

"You're serious." She smiles, dimples showing, and takes up position next to Lorne. They start to provide cover fire for their fourth man, who's running across the open space and following Teal'c.

"See?" Lorne grins smugly at Sheppard. "I already called dibs, and she just rolled her eyes at me. I think she likes me, and I'm basing that on the fact she hasn't killed me in my sleep off-world. Yet."

"Always a good sign of affection," affirms John. "When we get home, think we can put money on a sparring match with her and Teyla?"

"We could," says Lorne. "Careful, either one of them finds out, and we are dead men."

They share a conspiratorial nod, then look out over the battlefield. John barely even sees it. They're talking like it's a given they'll be going back; it's less about denial than it is about making it easier for now. They don't know when, or if, it will change, but believing that it will makes adjusting to being here less painful. Like summer camp, but with bullets.

"Found him." Mitchell rounds the corner, holding Jonas Quinn by the collar. "I'm calling this one a win," he announces. "Round everybody up. We're getting the hell out of Dodge, boys and girls!"

*

When Rodney gets to Stargate Command, there's some kind of near disaster. Which is such a surprise when you think about it, really. The SGC has, on average, a couple apocalypses--okay, near apocalypses--a week and that was only if they didn't let Doctor Jackson off-world. When they let him out, it takes about fifteen seconds for the world to try and end. Near as Rodney can figure from when he drops the research off to Sam, there was a civil war, and Lorne's team got caught trying to extract an asset.

He leaves with a grin on his face. It's the second time in a year Sheppard's rescued Lorne, and if that doesn't make Lorne damn pissy, then nothing's going to.

"Oh you're kidding!" Laura falls back onto the couch laughing when he relates the story. "Lorne got caught _again_?"

"Well, this time he didn't get taken hostage." Rodney opens the pizza, putting it within her reach. "Just pinned down with his team."

"Still, Sheppard went along on the rescue?" She grins wickedly, helping herself to a slice. "Lorne's going to have a bug up his ass about that for weeks. I mean, after the last time and all, this is getting to be a habit."

"Or at the very least, a worrisome trend," agrees Rodney. " Oh, it was lizard people, by the way."

She pauses mid-bite, flicks her gaze his way. "Lizawdpeple?" she asks through the slice. "Sewiously?"

"Seriously." Rodney nods. "We are talking the Gorn here. Straight out of the Original Series, and, in fact, I'm pretty sure one of them wants a rematch with Captain Kirk, but Landry won't let Sheppard pinch hit."

"He's more of a Han Solo anyway." Laura shrugs off the comparison with a wave of her beer. "Seriously, we've got it all figured out. Ronon is _obviously_ Chewie, Teyla's more of a Mara Jade than a Princess Leia, so that'd be Doctor Weir, Zelenka is totally R2-D2 and…" She blushes lightly. "Oops."

It takes Rodney about ten seconds to realize what she'd meant. "That makes me…" He scowls. "I am _not_ C-3P0!"

"Well…" She shrugs a little. "You kinda are, Rodney, but--" She wiggles closer, her bandaged leg making it a difficult. "If it's any consolation I totally thought C-3P0 rocked."

He gives her a look of disbelief.

"I did! Just in the hilarious way, not so much the sexy way, but..." Sliding a hand across his chest, she peeks up at him through her lashes, which is total sexual blackmail, and she knows it. "I _am_ beginning to review that particular assessment."

Rodney's voice has maybe just a little hint of squeak when he asks, "Oh you are, are you?"

Laura nods. "I am. Now where's my sex?"

He blinks at her in disbelief. "I...I beg your pardon?" He stammers, nearly choking on a slice of pepperoni. "Your…_what_?!"

"Sex! You bring me pizza, beer, and a funny story? There had better be sex involved here too!" She jabs one finger into his shoulder. "This is an interstate booty call; now gimme my booty! Strip, buddy, or else!" Laura tugs at his shirt for emphasis. "Off."

"You first." He pokes her chest meaningfully. "Equal opportunity nudity here, or else, Cadman."

She smirks a grin at him, and tugs her t-shirt over her head. "Fine? Satisfied?"

Rodney reaches for her bra, unfastens it and gives it a toss. "Now I am," he decides, cupping her breasts in his hands. He really, really loves her breasts. It should be scary, but they're full, heavy in his hands, and soft beneath his mouth. They're his favorite toys, and when he plays with them, Laura repays him by grinding down on him through his pants.

The sound he makes in answer just might be a whimper, but Rodney will never, ever _say_ so. Instead, he lifts up enough that he can reach between them for his belt. Laura balances herself with her hands on his shoulders, and leaning back against the arm holding her. It says something that this is routine to them, but they're not really listening. Instead, they focus on getting certain things out of the way, and other certain things in the way. When they're done, she slides down on him with a happy little moan that does things to Rodney's mind.

She grins, kisses him quick and hard, and starts moving on him. Enthusiastic girl, his Laura, her fingers dig into his shoulders and grip tight as she rocks on him. He groans out her name when she hits just the right pace that he can't quite think beyond a litany of 'ohgodyesrighttherehurryupohdamn' running on a loop in his head.

Some of it even makes it out of his lips in a stream of words that makes her laugh.

He silences the refrain by covering one of her breasts again, sucking at it in that way that always has her make _that_ squeak, and grab for him like he's the only thing keeping her from falling off a cliff. The desperation in the action mirrors the way her body clenches around him, and _oh sweet lord in heaven_…

Rodney holds tight to her body as his surges out of his control, and when they both yell, he's pretty sure the landlord is going to kill them both.

But if you've gotta go, Rodney can't think of a better reason for it (excepting the whole saving the universe, because, well, that's not a fair comparison, now is it?)

**Week Four:**

He'd almost called back the wrong team.

They're back on Earth when he realizes it; he'd reached for his radio to call back the team, and the first name on his lips hadn't been Wallace or Babbis. He'd been about to call back Ronon and Teyla. It doesn't matter that he hadn't been off-world with his own team, that's not the point.

The next time it happens, he is off-world with his own team. He turns to yell at Babbis, and damned if Rodney's name isn't the first one on his lips. He catches himself before he says it, and never lets on. The team doesn't know, but when he gets home, he sits in the locker room and stares at the wall until he hears a familiar footstep.

After a moment, he looks at Mitchell and morosely admits, "I want to go home."

Mitchell opens his mouth to say something, thinks better and shakes his head. "Come on." He grabs John by the arm. "Let's get out of here."

He doesn't ask where they're going, just lets himself be drawn along. It's pointless to want to go back; he's not going anywhere near the Pegasus Galaxy unless the Ancients controlling the city want them back, and that's not likely.

He's sulking and he knows it. He's been sulking since their return, and he's known that the entire time as well. The frustration's finally bubbling to the surface, and it simmers in the truck as they leave Cheyenne Mountain.

"Same old, same old with you, isn't it?" asks Cameron, and it's definitely Cameron now. Colonel Mitchell is nowhere in sight, and he's glad. Where this is heading, it's best to leave ranks out of it. "I've gotta give you that one, Sheppard. You're nothing if not consistent."

John slouches in his seat, feels the tug of the belt across his chest. "Well, a man needs a gimmick."

Cameron snorts and takes a corner too fast. "Right and 'my way or the highway' works so well, right?"

In response, John tips his head in a quick nod. "Yeah." He's not surprised by the oath muttered in frustration that passes Cam's lips. The golden boy always did have a potty mouth, albeit a damn talented one.

John's halfway hard from the memory alone, and he squirms, looking away and out the window. The trees flash by in a blur of green that leaves him drowsy with the temptation to just close his eyes and drift away. "Nothing makes sense here," he admits instead. "Can't put together a team that doesn't _suck_ because Landry's got _my_ people scattered everywhere, I've got the feeling that everything's about to go to hell, and then there's _you_." He thumps a fist off the door, and leans his head back against the seat. John sighs. "This would be where McKay would say I'm pathetic and tell me to shut up and save us all the melodrama."

Cameron chuckles dryly, "You did say the man was a genius. Guess I'm going to have to believe you on that one." His tone doesn't change, still conversational when he adds, "So exactly what happened?"

John slowly turns to look at him, a knot in his gut at the change in subjects. So what that it took three weeks for it to come up? John would've been satisfied if it had been three years. Never? Never would have also been more than acceptable.

"I don't know." He shrugs it off, sitting up. He's spent long enough asking himself the same thing. Long-distance relationships are one thing, him in McMurdo, Cameron who the hell knew, but…

Then the accident, or whatever it really was. John's not stupid. Cameron's injuries, plus the security that surrounded him in the hospital? Then he'd suspected something, and now he knew.

The story comes spilling out of him in a rush of words as they make the way down the highway, and for John it's like living it again. He can see himself. "They wouldn't let me in," he says, after a moment's relating the story of coming to the hospital, of seeing the security, catching sight of him through the door.

The Air Force's golden boy, the Air Force's screw up, and a chance for them to correct a mistake that never should have happened. John doesn't know if they _knew_ or not (he's not about to ask either), but he's got to admit, the Air Force needed Cameron Mitchell more than they needed John Sheppard, and convincing Cam of that would be top on their priorities.

Once he convinced himself of that, John spent the next few years convincing himself he'd had it all wrong. Can't break up from something that never actually was a relationship, right? A few quick fucks off-duty is stress relief, and a hand job here and there is not a lifetime commitment.

"Nearly getting yourself killed defending the planet." John shrugs. "If that doesn't make a man open to re-evaluating things, nothing will."

Cameron goggles at him in shock (which would be funny any other time). "Re-evaluate?" He echoes. "Are you out of your damn mind, Sheppard?!" He pauses, shakes his head. "Course you are," he grumbles. "It's you." He slams on the brakes, steers them to the side of the highway. "Okay, listen, and listen good. I never knew you were _there_, all right? Nobody ever told me, and for the first few months, I was drugged out of my damn mind anyway. I'm lucky I knew _I_ was there." He laughs, a little harsh. "I thought that _you_..."

They look at each other with disbelief in their eyes.

"Man..." Cameron shakes his head, his emotions plain on his face in that earnest way that should be hokey, but isn't. It's enough to make a rebellious grin tug at John's lips, despite the difficult moment.

If what they had then was a relationship, then Cam was definitely the romantic in it.

"So now what?" asks John, fulfilling his role as the cynic.

"So now we admit that this is totally fucked up." Cameron grins shakily.

When he moves, John meets him head on.

Cameron's mouth on his is rough, desperate, and as familiar to him as his own. John groans into the kiss, trying to tug him closer. The close quarters of the truck cab are confining, and it both frustrates and amuses him. They've never had enough space or enough time, and crazy-making as it is, at least it's something that hasn't changed.

Grabbing for Cam's jacket, John tips them backward until momentum settles him up against the truck's door. Cameron follows easily, settling atop him and greedily chasing the kiss. His hand rubbing John through his jeans is enough to set stars off behind John's eyelids, and bring out another groan. This is three weeks of pent-up tension, a few months of confusion, and a few more years of hurt and longing exploding to the surface all at once. They don't know where to go first, what to touch first, and John can barely _think_. When Cameron's hand suddenly curls around his cock and gives it a quick squeeze, John can't help the "Fuuuuuck..." that growls its way across his lips, and into Cam's mouth.

Cameron chuckles, pulls back in the small space. "S'the point of this, ain't it, John-boy?" He shucks out of his jacket and rearranges himself over John.

Knowing what's coming, John watches the process with heavy-lidded eyes. It's too easy to picture Cameron peeling off all the layers; before long he'll be doing it himself, just not here. When they do, they're going to have more time, and more space.

John grins as the mental picture forms in his mind. They're going to need it.

When Cameron's mouth slides down over him, hot and wet, it's all John can do to keep himself from bucking upward. He grabs for something to hang onto, anything to anchor himself, but his fingers slip and slide on the dashboard. He closes his eyes and curses roughly as Cam works on him. He can't open his eyes and watch, he knows he can't. If he does, it'll be over, and John doesn't want it to ever be over. He's going to hold on for as long as he can.

Except this is Cameron Mitchell, not some random guy in a bar, and Cameron knows everything and everywhere that John can't resist. He plays John, and John's shaking, cursing, maybe crying, and then he's sitting slack-jawed looking at him.

Cameron sits back, shifting his legs on the seat and avoiding the steering wheel. "Damn," he breathes, "I missed hearing you like that."

John tries to remember how to think. He's still trying when a car horn blows, and Cam curses, throwing his jacket at him. "Quick, cover up."

"What?" John asks thickly, only to realize what's what when the car pulls alongside, and a familiar voice can be heard through the glass.

"Evening, Colonel," Lorne doesn't get out of his car, just has Linda open the window so he can speak, and John doesn't sit up, doesn't dare move. This is so very fucked. He closes his eyes, and sort of prays that this does not get them both cashiered out of the Air Force. He's not sure a blowjob on the highway is a good justification for ending the world.

God, John has decided, does have a sense of humor and it's _twisted_. This has to be like the sexual equivalent of picking the wings off flies.

"Major," Cameron's voice is actually even, and John really needs to figure out where they're learning this shit. Elizabeth swears he can't bluff to save his life, and she's not wrong. At least he finally stopped playing poker with her. God's not going to go so easy on him. "Heading out?"

"Yessir," interjects Linda. Her voice sounds odd and John grits his teeth. Damn it. He's lying in a truck with a strategically placed coat, and Lorne _has_ to have company. He refuses to open his eyes, because with his luck? Lorne's going to have Landry _and_ O'Neill in the backseat, and if he does, John's sure he doesn't want to see that, thanks.

"Everything okay, sir?" asks Lorne.

"Fine, just stopped to make a call," affirms Cameron, with a too bright smile in his voice. "You know how it goes, can't drive for shit on these roads and use the cell too. You two heading out for anything special?"

"Dinner," squeaks Linda. She _knows_, and if John were a lesser man, he'd be crying right now.

"We've got a late night," adds Lorne. "Need food before we go blow shit up."

He sounds gleeful. John's almost envious. This is so not going to end well. He's back to missing the Priors again, and that cannot be a good sign.

"Have fun," jokes Cameron. John wishes him all sorts of dead.

Lorne drives on, and John opens his eyes to Cameron snickering. "It's not funny," he intones. "I am doomed."

"A little humility in a CO is a good thing." Cameron tells him, and steals back his coat.

"Fuck you," John growls.

The look he gets back is searing. "Not exactly what I had in mind, John-boy."

*

"Ever have that weird feeling?" Laura asks him late one night, her face blurry and pixilated on his laptop's screen.

He slants her a look that's just this side of a leer, and then grins. "I have those frequently, but don't worry. You're usually the cause of them."

She rolls her eyes and throws a tissue at the webcam. "Jerk," she announces affectionately. "I don't mean _that_ kind of a feeling, Rodney. Just--this weird feeling that something's about to go wrong, and you don't know what it is. Ever have that kind of a feeling?"

"I lived in Atlantis for two years, and was involved with the Stargate program a few years more than that." He shrugs. "You usually have that feeling once a week. In fact, when you don't is when you worry. You're probably already hip deep in a foothold situation, and just don't know it yet."

Laura crinkles her nose at him. It's cute, but since she can rig a bomb to his toilet seat a la Lethal Weapon, Rodney isn't about to tell her that. "So basically, I should be expecting the world to end all the time so that it doesn't?"

He nods. "Yes, that's it precisely."

She frowns. "That's stupid."

"That, dear Cadman, is life in the Stargate program, be it on Earth, Atlantis, or at the ege of an Ori Supergate." Which is actually what he's supposed to be trying to figure out right about now while they're talking. There's a hundred different ways a Stargate can malfunction, right? The boys at the Pentagon (not exactly America's finest in his opinion) are of the opinion that the bigger the gate, then the longer the list of ways it can be fucked over.

In theory, not a bad plan, but the problem is the Ori aren't exactly handing out copies of "The Idiot's Guide to Supergate Sabotage," and Rodney's not sure they have enough data to really make a go of this.

But he's just Canadian, so what's he know?

Laura shakes her head at him. "It is not, and you know it."

"It is right now," admits Rodney with less rancor. "We are so very screwed right now with this Ori situation." If the Ascended just gave a damn, then maybe they'd stand a chance, but he's actually starting to miss the Wraith. At least all they did was suck the life out of you.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be so interested in us anyway." Laura grins. "We spend too much time having sex to be proper worshippers, plus there's that Ancient city deal."

"Ah, yes, we're infidels." He nods. "They'll just kill us, then." Sitting back against his pillow, he meets her eyes on the screen. "You really have one of those feelings?"

Laura hesitates a second, and scratches at her shoulder where Lam gave her a shot after that Rigellian flu-thing scare. "Yeah, I kinda do," she nods. "Something's bugging Sheppard too. He's got 'that look,' and I think he's not the only one."

"You haven't heard anything from Atlantis, right? Nothing beyond the usual status reports of how they're totally not interested in our help, and they just want to know where we left the lawnmower?" Rodney's not bitter, no, really.

"Nothing out of the ordinary that I've heard." She shrugs again. "Landry's not really handing out briefings on the matter, and nobody's seen Doctor Weir lately, so we can't ask her."

Rodney sighs at the mention of Elizabeth. "And you're not likely to." He's been checking up on Elizabeth, and none of them have been speaking to her. She's cut herself off from all of them, and he really wishes he could be surprised by that. "She's not readjusting well."

"Are any of us?" Laura laughs bitterly. "Seriously, Rodney, we're all in a holding pattern."

He drops his gaze, then nods. They're all just waiting to go home, Laura's just the first that he's heard actually admit it. "Question is…"

"What are we waiting for?" She smiles faintly. "Haven't the faintest fucking clue, but it's coming, Rodney. I can _feel_ it." The confidence in her voice is jarring, considering what that means. The Ancients don't need their help in Atlantis, don't really want it, and Rodney's not sure he wants to think about what could possibly go wrong that would make them need it. "Can't you?"

Rodney swallows nervously, even though he doesn't need to be with her, then finally nods again. "I think we all can."

He looks at the notepad lying on the bed beside him, and reaches for his pencil. They're going back soon, and he's sure of pretty much one thing--it's not going to be a good day.

** Week Five: **

John is pretty sure he should be unable to move right about now. When he finally hauls himself out of Cameron's bed, and ambles toward the bathroom, his body is pleasantly sore, and just pleasantly sore enough. Atlantis has been giving him a better beating than he thought.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, ignoring the way it looks when he passes himself in the mirror. He's still half asleep, and this is the best he's felt in weeks, since they left the city. He's not going to knock it for a little bed head, especially not bed head that's well earned.

Turning on the shower, he grins when a mouth finds his shoulder and Cam's arms work their way around his waist. "_Again_?" he asks in disbelief, leaning back.

"Sure, why not?" Cameron chuckles into his skin, so he feels as much as he hears it. "It seems to me that we've got plenty of time to be making up for, and not a whole lot of time to be making it up in. Damn duty shifts," he grouses playfully. "Always cutting into my sex life."

"Speak for yourself," John says archly. "It never hurt mine any."

"Alien sex hormone thingies do not count," Cam argues, tugging him around for a kiss. "Neither do alien distractions." His fingers wrap around John's cock, beginning a leisurely rhythm.

John groans, his head thumping up against the frosted glass of the shower stall. "No fair," he says thickly. "Reading our mission..." he trails off, hips matching Cameron's pace with slow, lazy thrusts.

"Reports?" Cameron finishes for him, with a smug grin. "Can't help myself, sorry. I've got this unhealthy interest, and frankly, there's already rumors about you and McKay. If I've got competition, I've gotta keep up with things, and those reports're my best chance."

Somewhere in the part of John's brain that can still think, he notices that Cameron makes no mention of Ronon, and says so. It comes out more like a stammer than a question, but he really can't care. He's one orgasm away from vegetable brains, and whatever words that make up Cam's answer, they take awhile to sink in.

John comes hard when he realizes exactly what Cameron had said. "Yeah, when you get back to Atlantis, _then_ I'll worry."

It should be worrying that it matters so much that Cam believes he's going back, but it's not. It's the opposite, but John doesn't say so. He just takes a quiet affirmation for the feeling that's been sitting in his gut for weeks, practically since they came back.

"I promise, anything ever happens, it's just sex," he assures, pulling himself back together and grinning lazily. "I mean, you've seen the guy, _Shaft_," he can't resist teasing. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

He gets a grin and pressed up against the shower door for his troubles, "Seems you have," Cameron rumbles, grinning at him. "Maybe I should be worried about this guy, huh?" His mouth hovers near John's, teasing him.

John's hands slide around Cameron's waist, working their way up his bare back. "Mmm..." He grins. "I'll let you know just as soon as I get back and meet up with him again. Might just have to tackle him on sight."

He likes this, the give and take between them, and the underlying acceptance (even confidence) that he's going back to Atlantis. John isn't going to say it, but they both know he needs it right now.

Even if this turns out to be a complete and utter pipe dream, he needs to believe that there's a chance he'll go back. He needs to believe it to keep going, at least until the day that leaving the SGC feels as alien to him as leaving Atlantis did. He's not sure it's going to happen, but he's willing to try.

*

Laura visits him this time. Rodney will not admit that maybe, just maybe, he sleeps better with her here, and not just because of the naked thing. Although he's not going to ever complain about the sleeping naked, because she _wakes up_ naked, and that always goes to fun places.

When she wakes up and takes a bleary-eyed look at the clock, Laura rolls to face him with a confused expression. "Don't you have to go in?"

Rodney snorts. "I run it. I can skip work when I want."

She stares at him for a long moment, then her lips turn up in a wicked grin. "They turned you down for the puddlejumper research program again, didn't they?"

He glowers. "They keep insisting I'm too close to the situation, which is ridiculous, if you ask me. It is an _object_, how could I possibly be too close to it? It isn't as if I'm asking to dissect you! I know those ships better than anyone. It's ridiculous!"

Laura's grin widens, and she kisses his chest, snuggling close. Laura Cadman is a cuddler, and Rodney McKay will die a painfully violent death if he ever discloses that particular tidbit of information to anyone. "I think I'm going to take that as a compliment," she decides, her fingers playing over his bare chest. He's not exactly comfortable sleeping naked, but Laura always finds a way to get him that way, and she's _very_ creative about it. "Because I think, in your twisted little manbrain, that's exactly what that was supposed to be."

Rodney's not sure for a moment what she means (which he thinks is part of the 'manbrain' issue), then he rolls his eyes. "Well, of _course_ it is," he huffs. "As if I'd ever want to dissect you." He has that issue with blood, after all, and, naturally, the issue of liking Laura's blood to stay inside Laura. It's a small matter, but he's still quite firm on it. "What else would it be?"

She laughs, lifts up to kiss him. "Nothing."

Rodney McKay is a genius, he knows many things about many things, but he does not (and probably will never) understand women in any way, shape, or form.

Though he certainly does _appreciate_ their forms, especially Laura's.

"It is absolutely insane!" He returns to ranting. "Nothing they're saying makes any sort of sense, and Elizabeth _still_ refuses to return my calls. She's the only person involved that could _begin_ to explain how important I am to the study of the jumpers."

"What about Radek?" wonders Laura, and winces at the look he gives her. "Already tried?"

"They dismiss him ten seconds after he opens his mouth, shoves up his glasses, and conveniently slips in and out of English as he attempts to explain." Rodney snorts. "Instead, Bill Lee's running the experiments. _Bill Lee_. He's a competent enough scientist if watched, but that's the key. You cannot turn your back on the man for a second, lest he accidentally set off a supernova. _Him_ they let near the jumper, _me_? Me, I'm too close, and therefore unsuitable."

He rubs at his forehead, trying to ignore Laura's hand stroking a circular pattern on his chest. "We were gone two years, Cadman. Did the entire galaxy lose its fucking mind while we were gone?"

"Do you want me to tell you the truth?" she asks with a sympathetic look.

Rodney scowls. "I wanna go home," he announces plaintively, and, not for the first time, he doesn't mean Canada.

Although...

Laura's smile fades and she nods. "We all do."

"Fucking Ancients," grumbles Rodney. "Had to go and ruin everything. We were doing just fine until they came back..." He frowns. "Until _we_ saved them. We saved them, isn't that the joke? We should've just left them out there." He doesn't really regret saving them. There are real, live Ancients left in the galaxy, and if only for scientific reasons alone, that's a good thing. He doesn't regret saving them _really_, but he's not happy about it either.

"We couldn't do that." Laura shakes her head and he nods. "It wouldn't have been right."

"No," he agrees. "But it would have made things easier."

Folding her arms, she rests on his chest and grins. "And since when have we ever done _anything_ easy?"

**Week Six:**

The decision's already made when John realizes he can't say goodbye.

If they pull this off--when they pull this off--Landry's going to be out for serious blood, and he can't put Cameron in the line of fire. He can't ask Cameron to risk his career, can't ask him to risk the life he's taken on with the SGC and SG-1.

Elizabeth is right when she says that it's not like a unit of the SGC hasn't done this before; they have, and more than once. The thing is that Landry's not even close to being General Hammond, or even General O'Neill, and John's not sure that this general will understand their reasons. Cameron could easily find himself in the line of fire for something in which he played no part.

He wants to say goodbye, just in case he doesn't come back, but he's not willing to bet Cameron's career on it either.

"You here already, Sheppard?"

John freezes in his tracks at the too familiar voice. It's the friendly professionalism of Colonel Mitchell, but John can hear the faint hint of Cameron's concern underneath it.

"Yeah," he nods and scratches at the back of his neck. "Wallace is getting the bad news from Landry today." He spreads his hands in a 'what're ya gonna do' gesture. "Have to start looking for a new guy."

He's been grumbling about his team practically from the moment he got back. Cameron's heard this story repeatedly in and out of uniform. Having been in the same shoes himself, he's done his share of commiserating and then some.

John just wishes he could tell him the truth.

Even as he thinks it, he can hear Rodney's voice quote, _'And if wishes were horses, we'd all be knee deep in shit'_

Well John doesn't have the horses, but at the moment he's definitely got the shit, and it is _way_ above his knees. He shrugs. "Gotta start from scratch, but it's worth it." He jabs a finger in the air, pointing Mitchell's way. "_And_ Elizabeth's in town, so if I'm lucky she'll be able to sweet talk Landry into letting me have some of my people back."

For starters, he's thinking about Ronon and Teyla. Just to start, he fully intends on getting _everyone_ back, after he gets his city back. They're all his people, and to hell with anybody that says otherwise.

"Right," Mitchell is saying. "You had dinner with her last night before everything went to hell." Despite the concern in his eyes, John can't think of him as Cameron right now. He can't let his mind go there. Mitchell opens his mouth then closes it again for a moment. He wants to ask, John can tell Cameron suspects something, but he won't go there. "Pays to have friends in high places," he says instead. "Landry needs help with the IOA, she gives him that..."

"He might be inclined to let me have a half-decent team." John nods. "That would be the goal, in fact..."

Mitchell claps him on the shoulder. It might just be John's imagination and wishful thinking, but it feels like the hand lingers just a second too long before he moves on. "Yeah, well, good luck with it."

John watches him go and, when he's out of earshot, says sadly, "Bye."

*

She corners them outside Bill's lab, a thunderous look on her face that promises Rodney so much trouble. Politely, though, she nods a greeting at Elizabeth. "Ma'am, it's good to see you again."

Elizabeth offers a smile in response, ever-diplomatic. "Lieutenant, it's good to see you again as well." She's curious, Rodney can see that, about the proprietary way Laura's glaring at him, and the sheer lack of personal space between them, and he knows, later, Laura's going to freak. But right now she's too furious to realize that she's technically outed them to _Doctor Weir_, and he's going to have so much fun with this later.

Providing, of course, he lives through the whole mess, but that is a total other issue he's absolutely trying not to focus on right now.

"McKay, I need to talk to you," she says finally, tugging him away. "It's _important_."

Homicide usually is, but he doesn't point that out. Instead he looks at Elizabeth. "I'll catch up."

She nods slowly, giving him a look that promises an interesting conversation at their first chance. Rodney thinks of dinner last night, with the questions of Beckett about Laura, and he winces. He's going to miss his spleen; he's gotten rather fond of it. "Of course, Rodney," she says, turning away. "I'll see you there."

Elizabeth is barely around the corner before Laura pounces. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" she hisses.

He tries for obtuse. "We were talking to Bill, remember? Elizabeth's going to talk to Landry and company? Let me back at the jumper."

"Bullshit," Laura snaps. "You think every member of the expedition in the Mountain hasn't hard about the city and General O'Neill? We _all_ know, Rodney and we all know you're going to do something about it."

Rodney shakes his head. "There's not anything that we can do…"

"Oh, like that's going to stop you from trying!" She jabs him in the shoulder. "The minute Landry told you guys, Sheppard and Weir probably started plotting their way back. If the Daedalus hadn't already left? They would have stolen it like they're the second coming of SG-1 or something." She huffs a breath. "And all of that without even thinking that the rest of us would want to help."

He blinks in disbelief. "Hang on, you're not mad that we're going, you're mad that you can't _help_?"

"Of course, you moron!" Laura rolls her eyes. "Aside from the constant threat of the Wraith, the Genii, and whatever other races we've yet to meet and piss off, but inevitably will? Atlantis is the best gig most of us have ever had! We didn't want to leave either, and if you're going back, then we want to help." She flicks a glance at Lee's lab, and he can almost see the pieces coming together in her mind.

"Yes," he admits quickly. "We're going to use the bridge to go back. There's not much anybody can do to help us except…" Rodney shrugs. "The longer it takes for the SGC to realize what we're up to…"

"The better it is," she agreed. "Except in this case they're going to know the minute the jumper dials the gate that something is up."

"But if they can't do anything to stop it…" He waggles his brows and Laura grins, catching on. God, he loves it when she's devious.

"Then there's not a hell of a lot they can do with Daedalus already on the way to Atlantis and out of communication range…" She fairly bounces in place. "You know, I really haven't been to see Radek in a while," she points out. "That's totally wrong of me. I mean, just think of all the things we have to talk about, and I still need to find Lorne…" She leans closer. "Just in case, you know? We might be able to figure something out later on, and follow somehow."

There aren't a lot of things in the universe that Rodney would put past Laura Cadman, and none of them apply here. When they get to Atlantis, he's not going to be the slightest bit surprised if she, Lorne, and a few others manage to find their way along with death gliders or F302s, or _something_ that can fit through the gates.

"Just--" He frowns. He can't tell her to be careful; he knows how it works around here. Telling a soldier that, well, you just _don't_, but he still wants to. He doesn't want to see her hurt. "Just buy us some time, and worry about the rest later."

She looks around, quick and furtive, then breaks her own personal protocol and kisses him quick and hard. Then she's gone, with a slap to his ass as her only goodbye.

Rodney grins to himself and goes to join Elizabeth.

There are days he _really_ loves his life.

Which is precisely why he's about to go and try his damndest to lose it.

Typical, huh?

** Later: **

Rodney stumbles, catching himself at the last second and keeps on running. Behind him Sheppard is gasping for air and his own lungs ached in sympathy but he couldn't spare the oxygen to say so. Everything was going into the effort to keep moving and if the Wraith didn't kill him the running for his life was going to.

"Oh *god* why did I take this job?!" He pants out against the burning of his lungs. There is no way they were paying him enough to even begin justify the fact they're putting him through this kind of torture on a regular basis. So not enough, not even close and frankly he thinks that should be demanding a raise and if he survives? He is so sending a request home first chance he gets.

After all, what's the point of Ottawa finally being involved if they can't help out now and then? He votes, he's responsible a citizen, it's only fair that the PM earn her pay and up his.

A hand grabs onto his shoulder, squeezing, and Rodney yelps in a quite unmanly fashion as he stumbles off the treadmill and only just avoids spilling across the floor. "Not funny, Carson," he complains in a wheeze, glaring at the doctor.

Beckett gives him an annoyingly perky grin and makes a notation on his screen. "You're done, Rodney, sit down and catch your breath before I have to run for the oxygen."

Rodney's sure he would have said something positively brilliant in response that would, no doubt, have finally reduced the uppity Scotsman to his appropriate place in the universe and make Rodney's lifetime. He's sure he would have but what came out of his mouth instead is, "Oh thank _god_!"

He bends double to suck in gulping breaths, pressing his hands to his loudly protesting knees. "That, Carson, has got to be a violation of the Geneva Conventions." It has to be, and if it's not, then nothing else could begin to qualify as cruel and unusual punishment.

"Afraid not, Rodney," Beckett returns brightly, happy as a clam to be back. "There wasn't a Pegasus contingent present for those negotiations."

Rodney glares at him again. "Of course not but, if I recall correctly, and it's me so I always do, both Canada and the United Kingdom _have_ ratified those treaties."

"Oh, so you're goin' to tell the PM on me?" Beckett tilts a brow at him. "Which one?"

"Mine," promises Rodney. "She's scarier."

"Will you two quit bickering?" complains Sheppard from behind them. "And Carson, can I get off this damn thing yet?"

Carson looks over, and Rodney snickers at the distracted look on his face. "Oh right," he nods. "Yes, you can get down too." He makes another note on his screen, and grins at them both. "So, good to be back all together then?"

"If I had the energy," assures Rodney. "I would dance about the room in glee." Except he doesn't have the energy, and even if he did, he's still not dancing. _Please_, he is Rodney McKay, and Rodney McKay does not dance unless he is alone with Laura, and the doors are triple-locked.

"Oh yeah," agrees John with a nod, grabbing a bottle of water. "Just giddy." His tone is one of dry sarcasm, but Rodney doesn't believe it. John's been as close to giddy as John Sheppard can ever get since they got back. About the only time he's happier is, well, Rodney tries not to snicker.

Any time he talks to a certain Air Force Colonel back at the SGC.

Understandably, Rodney doesn't point this out, he just takes the bottle of water and breezes past them. "Excuse me gentlemen, but my shower is calling my name." Funny how its voice sounded _just like_ Laura's.

Okay, so maybe John's not the only one who's giddy at being home.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Over the Rainbow and So Far from Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/757874) by [whimsicalwhims](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalwhims/pseuds/whimsicalwhims)




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